Trust Issues
by wholocked4
Summary: James Moriarty has several reasons that explain why he has trust issues. And Sherlock Holmes knows where to aim in order to break the empire apart. Or so he thinks. Jim Moriarty/Sebastian Moran. Written on my phone so the format may be weird in some parts. Rated M for language.


Jim smiled his usual smile. "It's sad to repeat patterns, but you called for it." He waved unceremoniously and a red dot appeated hovering on Sherlock's shirt. "But Johnny is not here to save you this time." Another wave and the dot was gone.  
"To make things more interesting," the consulting criminal continued, "let's play a game called Guess Where the Bullet Is Going to Pierce Your Skin."  
The detective's reaction was not what ge expected. Sure, he wasn't waiting for gasps and tears but he definitely was not ready for a smirk.  
"That's your game?" Holmes mocked. "Predictable. But I don't think we are going to play."  
Jim was internally frowning now, although he would never admit this. His eyes scanned his surroundings, an old custom when things drifted away from his plans, until they fell upon his own chest.  
A red laser dot.

The Tiger was used to his boss's twisted games. Seb took a deep breath and flexed his muscles for extra concentration. Just a little boost; he obviously didn't doubt he would hit his target even without a ridiculous red dot telling him where ge was shooting. Just another challenge for the great colonel.  
Using the perfectly cleansed lense, the sniper aimed at the consulting detective's pale neck. He was able to see as his muscles twisted into a smirk from here. Strange, something was not right.  
Sebastian looked up and that's when he saw him. Another sniper sitting by the window across from the Tiger. And he was aiming at his boss's chest.

With a sigh of exasperation, Seb checked the position of his sniper, ready to activate it when it was needed, and ran down the hallway, turned left twice, and reached the other side of the building.  
And knocked out the motherfucker who dared threaten James Moriarty.  
The sniper looked down at the unconscious body and gave him an experimental kick. Out like a light. He smiled at his handiwork with pride. Holmes made his work too easy.  
Too easy.  
Something was wrong.  
With a hurry, Moran shoved the passed out man to the side and looked through the scope of the fallen sniper's gun down to the quaint garden in the center of the building.  
Jim was looking straight towards him. "Tiger?" the madman's voice called, its softness catching Seb by surprise. Why did he seem so hurt?  
With a jolt, the colonel realized two things: a) the sniper he was holding was pointing straight at Moriarty's chest, and b) for all James knew, there had never been another hitman apart from Seb.  
He had practically pranced into the world's only consulting detective's trap.  
Holmes seemed to know this perfectly, for he was now gloating: "All for a generous amount of money and the promise of my brother's protection."  
That filthy liar!  
The Tiger shifted the gun and was about to blow the fucker's brains when all hell broke loose.  
John Watson appeared from nowhere with his gun held high. He dashed to the detective's side and tackled him right as Moran pressed the trigger. The bullet didn't even graze them.

"We've got to go, John!"  
"What?! What about- Damnit, he's gone!" It was true: the Tiger's boss had left without a trace.  
"John, we must leave NOW."  
"You know where he is headed?" the army doctor asked eagerly.  
"No, but I do know that I have pissed the second most dangerous man in London."  
Seb drew his handgun, surprised at how easily he had snuck up to the two men. He pressed the barrel to the back of the blonde's head.  
"Correct," he sneered. "Now, you have half a second to give me a good reason why I shouldn't paint the floor with his insides."  
Sherlock opened his eyes in mock innocence. "What's the big deal, Moran? A man with your aim will get a job in no time."  
The sniper tried to ignore the clenching in his heart. "You know perfectly well what's the fucking deal, Holmes." His pressure on John's head grew stronger.  
"Sherlock," the shorter soldier urged shakily.  
The dective ignored him and smirked as he saw his victory on a silver plate. "What would James say if he saw all of this... sentiment? What do you think... Tiger?"  
Seb's gun clicked dangerously. "Mocking me won't do your friend any good."  
The black haired man rolled his eyes. "Him? He is just a pet, just like you used to be. It may be tough for you to lose your boss, but I'm certain he will replace you in no time."  
"Is that so? Then I believe nothing would happen if I-"  
The blow that Moran received on the side of his head before finishing his sentence was completely unexpected.

The grey-haired Detective Inspector rubbed his sore knuckles absently. "Sebastian Moran, you are under arrest for several murders, assistance in kidnap, and torture. Or at least that's all we have for now, but don't worry, that is enough for a lifetime in jail."  
Watson was bent over now, hands on his knees, and was breathing heavily. "You-you were buying him time," he wheezed. "Great plan, Sherlock. Only next time, try to avoid the gun and the insults."  
The sociopath let out a nervous laugh. "Come on, let's go home."  
"Oh, not so fast." It was Jim's voice.  
Moran tried to pinpoint it, although he knew the criminal's customs. As he expected, it was impossible.  
He continued, "Things are about to get... explosive."  
Then, Sebastian did the only intelligent thing someone being threatened by James Moriarty could do: run. The bomb threat had distracted the other three men enough to buy him a few seconds.  
Anyway, he was still dealing with Sherlock Holmes, so soon enough they were in a hot pursuit.  
"Leaving my party so early, Tiger?" was the last thing Seb heard his (probably former) employer say, his voice pure, heavy poison on the sniper's heart, before he entered the busy and loud streets of London.

"Sherlock!"  
Seeing that his pursuer did so too, Seb slowed down. He was actually quite eager to hear the new argument between the detective and the doctor.  
"There's a bomb back there! Threatening god knows how many citizens!"

With a growl of desperation, the consulting detective looked towards the sniper he had been chasing, only to find him leaning patiently on the wall of the alley, smiling and waving. The cheeky bastard.  
Sherlock passed a hand through his crazy locks. "But... Ugh!" He kicked the closest trash bin and ran back towards the building.

Moran counted to ten twice: one to make sure that Holmes didn't come back and the other was supposed to even his shaky breathing. It didn't work, but as soon as he heard the police sirens, he knew it was time to go.  
But where? he kept thinking while he ran. He could stop wherever he was now and freeze to death. That sounded quite appealing. Or he could go back, confess, and rot in jail like he deserved.  
Or he could try to apologize to Jim.  
The Tiger snorted at his own idea, but something about it made him stop. He did a couple of small jumps, pretending to be a casual jogger, and stepped into the nearest diner. A milkshake would probably help him decide.  
As he sat on the uncomfortable stool, he balanced his possibilities. Or, to be honest, pondered on his latest thought.  
Moriarty was probably back at their flat. He had probably gone back right after his first disappearance, leaving a recording behind. After all, Glee had stared a few minutes ago.  
Attracting a few curious glances, Sebastian sniggered under his breath. He was in love with a murderous psychopath whose favorite TV show featured singing teens. When had his life become this ridiculous mess?

The sniper sighed. Who was he kidding? He only had one choice. It was Jim or nothing.

One deep breath. Not enough. Another. Still not enough.  
Sebastian stood before the closed door of what he had started to call home. On the outside, it was dingy to attract the least attention, but James had made up for it on inside, where it was lavishly decorated.  
The blonde placed his head on the cold door for a moment before knocking. There was rustling and someone saying something suspiciously like "Chinese is finally here."  
During the next second, the Tiger actually wished he had Chinese food in his hand. And Chinese delivery boy clothes. And a different face. And a different life. Because he was surely about to die.  
Jim was able to stand with the door wide open, staring at his ex-sniper, for a full second before drawing his handgun.  
The tip was cold and relentless against Seb's bowed forehead.  
"I'm sorry," he said finally.  
Moriarty laughed openly and even a bit warmly, but his tone suddenly switched into completely icy. "No, you are not," he sneered. Oh, those mood swings. Sebastian was strangely attached to those mood swings.  
"Do it," Seb ordered.  
"What?"  
"Do. It."  
"Why should I?"  
The sniper grabbed the consulting criminal's wrist and pressed the gun harder to his skull. "Because if living from now on is with you hating me, then I prefer not to live at all."  
"You betrayed me," Jim noted.  
"I didn't-"

"Oh, please, 'Bastian! We are liars! This is what we do! I always knew someday, someone would offer you a slightly better deal and you'd be gone! But, honestly," he growled, "I never thought it would be a Holmes."  
"Jim, I would never-"  
"I'm not an idiot, Seb!" Moriarty then added more softly, "I'm not an idiot."  
Moran sighed, seeing his confession narrowed down to the most embarrassing, most secret part of his heart. "You know I don't care about just the money anymore. I know you do."  
"Me having feelings for you?" the criminal mocked. "That was all a theater. An act to keep you loyal and on your feet! Don't you EVER learn, Tiger?!"  
"If it was all an act," Seb mused, "then why haven't you fired yet?"  
He was right. He had not given Moriarty any legit proof of his innocence and James could've simply shot him midsentence in annoyance as he often did.  
Sebastian Moran could now give himself a round of applause and a golden star sticker for being the first person ever to leave James Moriarty speechless and dumbfounded.  
After an eternity, Jim lowered his gun slowly. "You are such a little sentimental bitch, Tiger."  
"Yeah, yeah, I know, Boss."  
The blonde paused cautiously. "Can I come in now? I'm freezing my balls off out here."  
"We don't want that, do we?" the criminal whispered seductively. While Seb was hanging his coat, he added, "Just know that if this happens one more time..."

"You'll punish me?" the Tiger challenged. He pulled of his muddy boots and risked a chaste kiss before flopping onto the couch. "Can I change the channel now?"  
"Take this as your punishment, little Tiger," Jim cooed and kissed him once more.  
An hour, an episode, and a spaghetti fiasco later, all was forgotten.  
After all, this was a house full of psychopaths and things like this happened every Tuesday or so.


End file.
